Page 134 of Better Than Gelato
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’ve got his number if you’d like it.” Paolo has offered me Jake’s phone number on various occasions over the past three years. And like every other time, I decline.
I invite him to come visit me in California, like I have several times. And like every other time, he declines. He makes me promise to come to the wedding.
“I wouldn’t miss it for all the pasta in Italy,” I tell him.
* * *
The landing into JFK is rough. There’s an early season thunderstorm and hundreds of flights have been canceled. Ours is among them. It’s only 10 a.m., but the earliest they can get us back to LA is tomorrow morning. Henry calls the office, and they arrange rooms at the airport Marriott.
Henry hands me my key and goes to sleep off the rest of his hangover. I try to nap, but I’m too antsy. After an hour, I give up.
I check my phone. There’s a text from Eloise, she’s delighted with the sneak peek of the photos I sent her. There’s a text from Paolo checking to make sure I made it home safely.
Flight to LAX got canceled. Stuck in NYC. Won’t be home till tomorrow.
He replies a minute later.
You’re stuck in NYC all day?
He sends Jake’s contact info “just in case.”
I don’t bother responding.
I grab my camera and catch a cab for Central Park. The rain has stopped, but the sky is a thundering mass of purple and gray. I wander around taking pictures, and I can’t help remembering the last time I was here with Jake.
Spending last week in Italy has made old memories feel fresh. And maybe it’s all those memories, or being here in this park, or the fact that I’m jet-lagged and sleep deprived, but before I know what I’m doing, I pull out my phone, check Paolo’s text and dial Jake’s number.
This is totally normal, I tell myself.Paolo’s an old friend. Jake’s an old friend. It’s normal to catch up with old friends.Of course, Paolo and I chat once a month, and I haven't spoken to Jake in close to three years…
He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hey. Jake. It’s um…”
“Juliet!” That one word, spoken by this voice, has me closing my eyes against the rush of memories.
“Yeah, it’s Juliet.”
“Wow. How are you?”
“Good. Yeah. I know this is kind of random. I just got back from Italy. I had a nice dinner with Paolo, and he gave me your number, and then my flight out of JFK got canceled, and I just thought…I’d give you a call.”
“You’re in the city right now?” His voice sounds surprised.
“Central Park.”
“When do you fly out? Are you free for dinner?”
“Um, yeah. I don’t fly out until tomorrow morning.”
Jake suggests 5 p.m. and says he’ll text me the address of a restaurant he knows. I hang up and bury my phone deep into my bag, wondering what in the world I’ve just done.
* * *
Jake’s standing outside the restaurant when my cab pulls up, and for a quick second, I consider telling the driver to keep driving. But I don’t.
I had no good clothing options for an impromptu meet-up with an ex-boyfriend, so I did some Manhattan shopping. This dress cost double what I’d usually pay, but the woman in the shop wasn’t lying when she said I looked fantastic. I take a breath and climb out.
